Of The Fel
by Nelfeshne
Summary: Follow along with a group of adventurers as they prepare for, and engage, The Burning Legion as it invades Azeroth. A classic five man composition goes from a group of wayward colleagues to stalwart companions, with an imp that does the light house work. Between their meddling and the dark forces at play, how will they survive the coming invasion?
1. For the Fel of It

Melfice walked through the cavernous tunnels of his home, the high vaulted ceilings crisscrossed by stone bridges shaped to appear as large skulls. Hands folded behind his back, he smirked as a riding bat flew overhead, a young Tauren whooping for joy as he came to the City of the Dead. The Undercity was perhaps the most impregnable of all the Horde capitals, especially after the debacle with Garrosh Hellscream. Melfice had lost a good deal of gold on his apartment in the Cleft of Shadows, as well as a good deal of research into a new strain of his latest project. It was his own foresight that had told him to leave the dwelling when he did.

Now he supported himself through his Enchanting business, being one of the oldest enchanters on the realm since the Sundering. He shook his head… so many lives lost to that damned dragon.

It made him sick, and he wasn't even capable of feeling that emotion anymore. His perpetual state of decay left him as a wholly blasphemous creation of the Lich Kind during his prime. When many of the scourge reclaimed their minds, Melfice had been one of the mages to help in creating portals to move the burgeoning people to Tirisfal Glades, and to the former kingdom of Lordaeron where they crushed the remaining human settlements and conquered the remnants of the city-state in the span of a week. Melfice had reveled in the bloodshed then, his blasts of spitting ice piercing through soldiers and villagers alike, creating frozen corpses for his brethren to feats upon while warriors charged ahead with towering Abominations, cutting deep into the ranks of the humans, pushing them to Greymann Wall and into the Plaguelands, to the ruined settlement of Andorhal and the Scourge that remained in the area.

The one who led them, the former High Elf Sylvannas Windrunner, who was well known in certain circles, was now a banshee that required a body. She tasked the fel-tainted warlocks and arcane-infused mages with the task of finding her a suitable host. With the Night Elves still reeling from the destruction of their World Tree, a Night Elf priestess was easy to subdue and drag through the twisting nether back to the Undercity, the warlock's method of travel painful but welcoming when compared to riding through hundreds of miles worth of enemy controlled territory just to get to friendly territory.

The priestess had woken during the transport and came out scrambling away on all fours. We'd stripped her of her armor and weapons, leaving her in her robes and sandals. Her tongue was garbled, but I'd studied enough scrolls to learn the High Elf language.

"Silence child," I remember saying. That'd shit her up. Or maybe it was the infestation of wood roaches that had taken up residence in my chest; they loved to crawl along my body and through the hole in my cheek back into my mouth. I barely even noticed, but several other Forsaken (as we were soon called) seemed repulsed by me.

"Y-you speak the noble tongue?" The priestess had asked, her back against a wall in the summoner's chambers. The lesser mages and warlocks looked on in amusement, not daring to intervene yet still on guard in case she called upon Elune for aid.

Motioning to myself. I smiled as best I could and bowed. "Allow me to introduce myself," I'd said with every bit of inflection I could manage in the sibilant tongue. "I am one of the Master Mages of the newly established kingdom under the guidance of the Undercity. We have developed a monarchy and want a new leader, and I thought of how much the Nigh Elves had lost in the conflict with the Scourge and the Legion. I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind acting as our new head of state."

"You kidnapped me after freezing and silencing me!" She cried, padding near her thigh and pulling a short knife from a hidden sheathe. I smile, impressed.

"You're resourceful… how quaint. What do your elders teach of the arcane arts, child?" I'd asked, holding my leathery hand up, a small roach perched on my fingers which I cooed to. "And please, be candid."

"They said that arcane magic brings demons to our world, that ten thousand years ago it almost left our world destroyed because of our Queens mad lust for power." She'd said, brandishing the knife at one of the zombies that we'd recruited to aid us in gathering the priestess. The arrows sticking out his back, all marked with tan feathers of the owls that flew through the forests within Nordrassil. The guards had been quick to come to the priestess's aid, and I'd been forced to order an emergency evacuation. We'd left them a surprise though, in the case of four Abominations and sixteen plagued ghouls.

But that was neither here nor there.

"So you already know I practice the arcane, yes?" I'd asked, sending a flare of power up my offered hand, causing the roach to glow a brilliant blue energy, showing signs of protective energies surrounding it. "But what of warlocks? Those that make pacts with those from the Twisting Nether and form bonds with demons, subjugating them to their own twisted will?"

"They're worse than the mages who seek to tear out world asunder! They conspire with the enemy, acting as agents for the Legion when they are ready to strike again." The priestess spat. Slowly rising on shaky legs.

"Oh?" I'd said, curious at her political commentary. "You believe they'll return?"

"Of course! You lesser races are still practicing blasphemous magics that wear holes in our reality, allowing more and more demons to slip through the cracks." She declared, bringing the knife to bare. "Now release me, or by Elune's light I'll end you right here!"

"Now you know that's a lie," I'd chuckled, taking off my glasses to polish them on my silken robes. "You're outnumbered in an enemy capital. We've taken you to make you our new leader."

The Night Elf looked confused for a moment, before she'd lowered her knife. "So you're to be my subjects?"

I remember nodding, smiling as she sheathed her knife. "Are you ready to be shown your quarters my lady?"

She'd fallen silent for a moment, the only sounds being her breathing and beating heart as we all stood waiting. I was almost ready to unleash a spell to subdue her once more when she spoke up.

"Yes," she'd said, her tone now lofty. "I wish to be taken to my quarters. Who are you who would speak to me in such a way?"

She was glaring at me now and I hid a smile behind my slack face; she was really acting the part of royalty all of a sudden, probably hoping she could get a carrier raven off to her fellows in Darnassus. It didn't matter.

They wouldn't come for her. They were still recovering from a war, and becoming mortal thanks to the demon Archimaonde. They didn't have time to locate our hidden city and launch a rescue attempt for a lowly priestess. She simply just wasn't important enough.

We'd paraded her through the Undercity, calmly walking with several Forsaken warriors acting as our vanguard. I hadn't yet come to need a staff as my form was still strong, my flesh firm. I had a sword of immense power on my hip, along with a lantern that powered my spells. Not that I needed the aid at the time, but I was a budding general within the Forsaken, an Ambassador to the city of Orgrimmar where we were negotiating our way into an alliance with the Orcs, Tauren, and Trolls .

The Tauren had been the most receptive, with praise coming from the Archdruid Hamuul Runetotem. The leader, Thrall, was still consolidating his power in the newly dubbed land of Durotar, and was happy to have the might of the Forsaken could prove to be a benefit over time.

I digress though… I remember the priestess's outright rage when she saw Varimathras standing tall and proud on the raised dais where Sylvannas had decreed she would rule from, attended by a chorus of banshees. Sylvannas, still in her banshee form had floated down to examine the fuming priestess before turning to me.

"She'll do for now," she'd said with a smirk. That was high praise when it came to our Queen, and I'd bowed deeply. It was around this time one of the rogues with us sapped the mouthy priestess, knocking her unconscious. The warriors carried her up onto the dais, where I and Master Warlock Thorn Nightshade had walked to our places, forming a triangle with Sylvannas and her banshee court. Varimathras had taken the liberty of using his mastery over the Fel to open a small wormhole with the aid of three other warlocks, all fresh Forsaken at the time. This had allowed Nightshade to tap into the Twisting Nether long enough to fuel our Necromantic endeavor, creating a gateway into the priestess's body. Her blind panic had been somewhat amusing at the time as I'd funneled her soul into a bejeweled necklace. The banshees had sung their enthralling song and allowed Sylvannas all the time she needed to enter the body before it's systems began to fail.

My part of the ritual was to place bindings on her body, trapping the soul within the frame and creating a prison of sorts. It had forced me to delve into some ancient lore forbidden by the Kirin Tor, but I'd hardly cared for them when I was alive.

My payment, a heady one thousand gold, had made up for whatever thoughts I had regarding the dark ritual we'd just performed. The night elf's body was already turning blue from her invading soul. Standing, she'd shed her gowns and moved to have measurements taken by some of the tailoring experts. She'd have a brand new set of armor in the morning.

"My Lady." I'd said, bringing about a long box that I'd taken the liberty of hiding. "I think I have something you may want."

"And what is it Melfice? Some gaudy enchanted staff that will serve better as a walking stick than an actual weapon?" She'd asked, her sneer on the elf's face somewhat cute in a morbid sense.

"It has been enchanted with some of the greatest powers I have at my disposal, but I think you'll find that it is worthwhile for a former Ranger-General," I'd said, popping open the case to reveal the polished ebony bow and centaur hide quiver. A dozen arrows were lined up in the case. Each poisoned with some of the most toxic concoctions our Alchemists had come up with.

She'd smiled briefly before her face turned to stone. She'd stepped up and picked up the bow gingerly, aiming it across the room. Testing the string, she'd found it taut and thick, just perfect for notching the arrows that would poison her enemies.

"This pleases me Melfice," she'd said after a moment. "You've done a great service to the Forsaken by aiding in my resurrection, and in acquiring this bow. You'll be remembered for this."

I remember bowing low, knowing all of the rotting eyes in the room were locked on me. "I live to serve the Banshee Queen," I'd said with a smile.

"Then go, and have my loyal Deathguard stand ready. I'll need a few days to acclimate to this wretched form." She'd ordered, banishing us from the royal chambers while she turned to Varimathras, speaking in hushed tones.

Turning my thoughts to the present, I cross the bridge in the Apothecarium and make my way to the stairs leading to the flats that were reserved for only the Forsaken of high standing. My standing had fallen over the years, but my status of having brought the Banshee Queen back to the material world left me in good graces with our spider of our Queen.

I wave my hand over the wards I'd placed over the door and unlock it with a simple cantrip. Walking into the dark flat, I slid off my bags and hang them from the stand next to the door. Shedding my outer robe, I toss it on the bed while I wrap myself in Saberon furs, stitching together with Hexweave and stuffed with Hawkstrider feathers. It cost me a king's ransom, but it made me look like royalty and was comfortable to boot. The high furred collar and open robes showed my formal white shirt and the pants I'd liberated from the bulbous mass Teron Gor had become in the Hellfire Citadel.

Pulling out my chair, I set my spellblade onto the table next to my Netherlight Lantern. Pulling a book from my shelf, I open it up until I find the recipe I've been working on for the last three months.

"Now four temporal crystals and fifteen sorcerous air… where did I store the air?" I wonder aloud.

"Over here," Ne'hala answers from her perch. The raven, a small chain attached to its leg holding it to the gold plated perch, was my constant companion. The necklace around his head, held there by some Tauren hoof glue, allowed the soul of the Night Elf from so many years ago to still speak through whatever wore the item. She was on her third Raven as she tended to burn through them in a rather nasty fashion, the Fel energies in the ritual having created something that even I didn't understand.

At least not fully.

"Thank you my dear," I say, bones creaking as I stand up from my seat. Her perch is next to a shelf of old books I pillaged from Gilneas when we laid siege to it. The Worden, now members of the Alliance, were ferocious in battle and were often a thorn in the side for anyone casting spells. Melfice had more than one encounter with the foul hounds that ended poorly. The fact that he was still standing was a testament to his allies within the Horde itself.

Grabbing a book from the shelf that detailed ancient runes, Melfice took a moment to stroke Ne'hala on the head, earning a disgruntled coo from the bird. "How have you been, my pet?"

"As well as can be expected," she growled, clacking her beak onto one of Melfice's fingers. A burst of fire singed her beak and sent her tumbling from her stand squawking. "You miserable corpse! I'll be free of your wretched curse yet!"

Thumbing through the pages of the book, Melfice stopped on a runic array that promoted kindling flames, allowing him to burn through enemies at a faster rate as it sucked the moisture from the air as it charged. Aligning them properly would be something of a challenge, but Melfice was always up for a good academic task. Putress had often tried to convince Melfice to join the Royal Apothecary Society and help research new contagions. After Putress and Varimathras proved to be traitors, Melfice was glad he hadn't associated with the power hungry Forsaken.

Buzz!

Buzz!

Buzz!

Heaving a sigh, Melfice opened the drawer of his desk to retrieve his communication device for his guild, The Hive. It was a marvel of engineering, truth be told, and was built last. Melfice had never gleaned how the tiny construct worked, he just focused on the positive facts that he was able to get commands from his Guildmaster at the drop of a hat.

Bringing up his Buzzer to his head, he pressed down the button and spoke. "Melfice reporting in, how can I be of service?"

The crackle of the transmitter was all he could hear for several seconds, before a rough Orcish voice came over the line. "Guild meeting in three days, Razor Hill at noon. Officers only."

"Great…" Melfice sighed, He was the resident Mage officer in the guild, supplying flasks and food to raiding teams while checking over the spell selection for those who went blade-to-blade with the Alliance while both factions fought for resources.

Clearing his throat, Melfice pressed the button again. "I'll be there."

"Good. That'll be all." The tone was stern and the chat brief, the buzzer going silent to indicate that the connection was dead.

Melfice hated the Officer meetings. Just a bunch of nonsense where they would discuss new business regarding new recruits, guild funds, and donations from each officer's group. The mages were expected to donate freshly made bags and enchanting materials, as well as five percent of their weekly haul.

Thinking over this, Melfice waved a hand over the beginning of his enchantments, grabbing the sword and sheathing it before slipping on his battle robes.

He needed a drink, and he knew the perfect spot for a little pick me up.


	2. Goblins and Mead

Digging his spurs into the rough sides of his Cloud Serpent, Summerleaf, he closed his eyes as he inhaled the rich smell of the forests of Tirisfal beneath him. Passing over the Zeppelin towers, he saluted one of the Goblins working the ferry service. The Goblin merely glared at him before returning to his conversation with a young Sin'dorei. Melfice winced; the Goblins of the Steamwheedle Cartel still hadn't forgiven him for his antics four years ago during a particularly rowdy Brewfest celebration.

Perhaps they never would, seeing how many Goblins corpses he'd created that day…

Even the Goblins that had joined up with the Horde during the Cataclysm knew of him, and gave him wide berth. He was rarely able to go to the auction house, unless it was one manned by Tauren in the city of Orgrimmar. It was a hassle really, but what could you do? Kicking his steed to greater speeds, he slithered across the night sky towards Brill and the Gallows End Tavern.

It'd withstood the test of time, surviving invading armies and mindless dead laying siege to the region. Now, the ramshackle bar was a watering hole for any and all Forsaken or Sin'dorei that were of the Enchanters. Some liked to come here for the exotic poisons that grew all over the surrounding fields while others merely enjoyed the cheap ale and hearty meals served by undead cooks.

"Say what you will," Melfice said as he landed, allowing Summerleaf to fly off into the twilight, "but if I want a rack of ribs prepared right, I go to a chef that eats people on a regular basis. Orcs may know meat, but we know how to _cook_ it."

"Is that so?" A sultry voice replied, a smile blossoming on Melfice's face at the tempting voice.

"Why yes, you know this better than anyone Jotelf. After all, wasn't it you just last year complaining at Hallows End that the Orc villages didn't understand how to celebrate properly?" Melfice said, eyeing the Sin'dorei leaning against the entrance of the tavern, a hand rolled cigarette between her fingers. She fished into a satchel at her waist and pulled forth a linen-wrapped bundle.

"Here, I made you some. You said you've been stressing over Khadgar's recent declaration," Jotelf said, tucking an errant strand of red hair behind her long, tanned ears. At her feet was a green creature with fiery feet, hopping about as if it had to go to the bathroom. It's comical ears and oversized hands belied the savagery the creature could show if threatened, as Melfice had learned when the little beast had gone berserk in his laboratory.

Melfice took the cigarettes and tucked them away before kneeling to stare into the orange eyes of the little Imp. "And how are you today Fizglip?"

The creature pulled on it's ears, it's small tail whipping back and forth errantly. "Too cold! Need warmer weather to be happy!"

"Well then, why don't we head inside where Fizglip can rest in the fireplace while we have ourselves a drink, hmm?" Melfice said, placing a hand on Jotelf's waist to move her along. "Do you know if any of the others are coming?"

"Dedmur said he would try and make it while Fry said he would be here an hour late. The letter I sent to Tyku… she never replied." Jotelf said after a few moments, glancing down at Melfice's hand. "That had better move unless you want to lose it."

Moving as if he'd burned himself, Melfice chuckled as they walked into the dank bar. Like most taverns it had a few tables and plenty of stools at the bar. The fireplace was lit, with three Goblins occupying the closest table near it. Melfice and Jotelf walked up to them, earning a look from the tallest of the three, a foul looking creature in black plate, a shield strapped to his back and a heavy mace laying on the table.

"Yeah, whaddya want?" He said, looking between Melfice and Jotelf.

"We'd like the table, if you would be so kind," Melfice said. "I'd be willing to pay you a gold a piece to move to a different location."

"We're comfortable right here," the Goblin replied, earning chuckles from his friends. "That is unless you're willing to part with _fifty_ gold for each of us?"

"Ah, negotiations have failed… the carrot must be withdrawn and the proverbial stick introduced." Melfice sighed.

"What?" The Goblin asked, looking at Melfice in confusion.

Jotelf reached down and lifted the Goblin out of his seat by the scruff of his cloak. "Listen maggot, Hellscream may have fallen but I still think your pathetic trash that needs to be burned in a pile. So why don't you and your buddies leave the bar before I light you up like the Wickerman?"

"Listen lady, we ain't doing nothing for nobody!" Another Goblin, this one with spiky blue hair and garish robes said in a curt tone. "You want a table, grab a seat in the back where your narrow ass belongs."

Jotelf threw the plate-wearing Goblin atop the blue-haired one before speaking a few words of demonic, cursing them both with an insidious corruption that would eat at their insides. Melfice shook his head and looked at the third member of the Goblin party, a female with a shotgun and a spider the size of a Pitbull resting at her feet. "The offer of a gold stands. She's just getting warmed up."

The female darted away, the chair falling back with a heavy smack on the wooden floor. She ran from the bar as the gathered Forsaken laughed, two jawless patrons raising their grog in a toast towards Melfice. He merely smiled and waved back, listening to Jotelf deal with the foolish ones still willing to resist.

"Hey!" the Goblin warrior growled. "I don't have to take that kind of racist crap from you! Vol'jin said we're all equal under his banner now, and I ain't goin' nowhere!"

The squirming blue-haired Goblin finally pushed his friend off of him and onto the floor. "Yeah! Do you want us to call the guards on you two?"

"Please," Jotelf said, pulling the cigarette from her mouth and blowing smoke into the face of the Goblin priest. "Go ahead and tell Gallywix for all I care. Just get the fuck out of our seats before I shove you in the fire and have myself a good old fashioned Goblin Bar-B-Cue!"

The priest began to say a few words, light radiating from his hands, before Jotelf leaned forward and pushed her cigarette into the priests green-skinned cheek. Squawking indignantly, the Priest swatted away the offensive item right when Jotelf was struck by the shield, knocking her back onto her ass.

He looked like he wanted to say something but Fizglip danced back and forth before shooting flames from his fingers, singing the Goblin warrior with Fel flames. Several Forsaken began calling out insults to the Goblins, others calling out bets. Both the priest and the warrior flushed at the words, but remained in a defensive position. The warrior reached for his mace, swiping it from the table to take a swing at the imp.

It never made it within a foot of the miniscule demon, as Melfice summoned up a barrier of frozen air. The mace chipped a chunk away while Melfice began incanting the words of power to plant a Charging Rune on the ground. Jotelf got to her feet and shrieked out like an angry Hawkstrider, Sucking the magic from the immediate area, countering whatever the priest was trying to do.

Jotelf uttered a harsh word, clapping her hands together and opening them to reveal four orbs of Fel fire, which flew to the ground and exploded, leaving yellow and red imps in their wake. All of them looked to Jotelf, who pointed at the priest.

"Burn!" Four identical cries cried out in shrill voices, miniscule fireballs peppering the priest, forcing him to hold up his staff to protect his face. The warrior, still chipping away at the ice barrier, glared at Melfice as the corpse began chanting, flames dancing at in his gathered palms at his side.

The warrior raised his shield just in time to absorb the fireball's blast, knocking the Goblin back into the priest, who went down to the ground beneath his friend's body. Struggling beneath the weight of the armor, Jotelf walked up and slammed her boot down atop the warrior's body.

"So," she said conversationally. "How are you feeling? I know my spell is causing your organs to fail and flesh to rot from the inside out. You may survive it, thanks to the Light you channel, but your friend here has already met his fate."

She pushed him forward a little, the Goblins head rolling loosely about, his eyes staring ahead with a slack face. Melfice walked up and grabbed the Goblin by the chest plate, lifting him off the priest and dropping him on the table. The priest got up, dusting off his robe while eyeing Jotelf carefully.

"Alright, alright… we'll go! Just let me resurrect my pal and we'll be outta your hair forever…"

"No," Melfice said, unbuckling the strap holding the chest plate together, his hands deftly undoing the armor.

"No?" The priest said, not understanding.

"Your little stunt of fighting with us has made me hungry. As punishment I'm going to slate my appetite on some fine Goblin cuisine. Do you have a problem with that? Because my friend can finish what you two started. Or you can walk away and come find your 'pals' remains in the garbage heap out back later tonight. Your choice."

Jotelf twisted her hand and all five imps sent five more bolts of flame at and around the priest, singing his robes and staff while burning his prodigious nose. The priest rubbed his wound before glaring at Jotelf.

"You've messed with the wrong Goblin today lady! I'll get back at you for this, mark my words!" The priest said before walking away, rotten chunks of meat and fruit pelting him to hurry his escape.

"Alright, alright!" The barman called out, his crooked jaw hanging partially free. "Drinks are on the house, assuming that mace is worth anything."

"It looks like something from the Citadel at the very least," Melfice commented, now staring at the Goblins bared stomach. Turning his head he smiled at the bartender. "Two Lambics Renee, and keep 'em coming. This thing can easily fetch you fifty gold!"

"You heard the mage, ten of that gold is going to keep you lot nice and sloshed for the next hour!" The barkeep called out, a mixture of groans and applause making Melfice smile. Turning to Jotelf, he pulled out the chair for her before taking a seat opposite, arranging the Goblin for on the table for himself.

"Try not to make a mess this time," She said, fishing out another cigarette. "I hate getting stains out of _my_ robes because you're a messy eater."

"These are new threads that I'm wearing, so no claws today. I have an old dagger I can use, it's clean and should cook the meat a tad as I cut into it." Melfice said, pulling the knife from his boot, flames crackling along the black metal merrily.

"How in the world did you keep that in your boot without hurting yourself?" Jotelf asked, leaning over to light her smoke on the dancing flames.

"That would be a mystery of the arcane, love. Now please, try and keep the smoke that way, or you'll ruin my meal."

"Oh for the love of… you're about to-" Jotelf began before Melfice slid the dagger into the Goblins gut, cutting along the hip and up the side so that he could pull out the pulpier organs one-by-one. "You _are_ eating someone! How is a little Earthroot smoke going to kill you?"

"I'm dead, nothing will kill me," Melfice commented as he pulled out a small purple organ, severing a tube holding it in. "I'm just saying your herbal remedies always make the meat taste odd, save for Goldclover. Speaking of which, do you have any? I'd love to spice this up!"

Jotelf grunted before checking her side bags, barely noticing as the Lordaeron Lambic's were dropped off. "Actually, I do. Only a half dozen bulbs, but that should be enough, right?"

"Oh yes… could you have your imp dice them up with my utility tool for me? I'm enjoying the lesser organs before I move onto the juicier ones. Drinks are here by the way."

"Oh thank the Old Ones, I need a drink after today," Jotelf groaned, passing the utility knife to Fizglip, who began chopping up the Goldclover bulbs as if he'd done this very task before more times than he cared to admit. "Orex is trying to kill me by having me gather all the herbs needed for our flasks. I've been flying nonstop all morning. Then I spent a couple hours actually mixing the right alchemical reagents with the right herbs to create what he wanted, only to find out I didn't gather enough Frostweed. He cut my pay for the day in half because of one little mistake. Utter bullshit I tell you."

"This is why I do freelance Enchanting now. I taught three others how to Enchant in the guild and now they tackle the heavy loads while I only get called upon for the rare enchants, which I always have the materials for."

"I guess I should stock up, but it's so hard when he makes these big orders!" Jotelf said, exhaling the herbs as she watched her summoned imps flicker back to the Twisting Nether, leaving Fizglip alone in his task. She turned just as Melfice popped an eyeball in his mouth, the juice squirting out across the table. "Manners Melfice! Manners!"

"Oh, my apologies…" he said, wiping his mouth with a piece of silken cloth. "I didn't think it would be that ripe."

"Ripe? It's a freshly slain Goblin, _everything is ripe on him!_ " Jotelf growled. "You're just lucky that didn't get on me, or else I'd be hurling hexes at you!"

"Empty threats my dear, empty threats. I know you love me…" Melfice said, pulling off the bracers on the warriors left arm.

"Like Fel I do…" Jotelf muttered, taking a long drag off her cigarette.

"Oh I'll grow on you… look how we are now, we used to never get along." Melfice said, placing the set of bracers to the side.

"That was before I was made an officer," Jotelf grumbled. "Now I have to work with you, which is like working with a plague victim."

"As a plague victim I feel I must protest that to a point," Melfice said, pointing the dagger at Jotelf. He paused in his preparations to grab his mug. Holding it up, he said the toast he always made when they drank.

"Boom de ya da!"

"Boom de ya da!" Jotelf enthused, her mood lightening as they recited their guilds name. The fact that they were the most violent battalion in Voljin's horde made her proud to be a member, even if the guild leader was an ass.

"So how much did Orex pay you in the end?" Melfice asked after downing a few seconds worth of his drink.

"Five-hundred gold. Could have made ten times that much on the Auction House…" Jotelf muttered. "I just don't get why we have these draconian rules about how the officers have to donate to the cause! Isn't that why we have underlings?"

"The underlings are for the battlefield, and you know it. If we had them off harvesting for flowers and roots we'd have nobody holding the Alliance at bay." Melfice said as he began cutting the arm off at the bicep. The flames kept the limb from bleeding too much, but Jotelf has to scoot her chair back with a frown as some of it dribbled onto her side. "Sorry…"

"You're so fucking gross!" She spat, drinking deeply of her Lambic. "I swear the make this sweeter each time we order it. How do they manage that?"

"Magic I assume," Melfice said as he popped a piece of meat into his mouth. "The Magic quarter is heavily invested in the production of alcohol. They claim it falls under their contract as an elixir or potion."

"Another reason I can barely afford to do business in this crypt of a city… I need a damn permit for everything! Did you know I need a permit for _each_ of my mounts?" Jotelf seethed.

"That does seem drastic, but I just ride Summerleaf everywhere. I pay an annual tax as a resident, so I imagine they just take her presence into consideration. You should get a place in the city instead of slumming it out here in Brill."

"And run risk of being taxed by a Deathguard? No thanks… besides, I hate Abominations… they smell like a fish merchants stall at high noon." Jotelf said, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, look who comes calling now that you've mentioned foul smells…" Melfice said with a smile, biting down on a finger.

Walking with a slight swagger, Dedmur strolled in through the entrance and made his way towards their table. The Death Knight had transitioned well enough, his once ivory skin now a pearly sheen lined with blue veins like flawless marble, he made it his life's goal to hit on Jotelf at every available opportunity.

"Great…" Jotelf muttered, rubbing her forehead. "I need more liquor before this."


	3. Nightfall

"Jotelf!" Dedmur cried, his hollow voice ringing out through the bar, drawing the eye sockets of every Forsaken. He moved to embrace her, stopping only when her delicate hand was placed against his chest. He looked down and gave her a wry smile. "I see you're wearing the ring I gave you… something you want to admit to me?"

"I like diamonds?" Jotelf replied with a flat tone, earning a chuckle from Melfice, who was doing his best to chew through the sliced up lung as best he could without dropping any of his meal.

"I was thinking that you might be showing your loyalty to someone by wearing it," Dedmur said, pulling up a chair to the table. He pulled his matching axes from his belt and laid them on the table before waving at the barkeep, the jawless undead glaring at him as if his presence was an affront. "Two plates of roasted boar ribs, if you could?"

"Make it one," Jotelf said with a look of revulsion. "Not all of us are as barbaric as you Dedmur."

The former Sin'dorei held a hand to his chest as if wounded. "What? How could you say such a thing about me when you dine with something eating the kidneys of another humanoid?"

"For one I think he's working on the lungs right now, Fizglip is dicing a kidney for him. For two, Melfice and I go way back. He was my instructor at Dalaran before I turned to the Fel and he was taken by the Scourge."

"It's true," Melfice said, slurping up his lung. "She was a horrendous disciple of the Arcane and truly a failure with her command over Frost. Her abilities leaned towards mastery over Fire, which transitioned over when she took up the mantle of a Demon Binder."

"I find it hard to believe Jotelf could do poorly at something," Dedmur said, smiling as his plate of ribs arrived, a small bowl filled with a savory gravy set to the side. "Oh thank you!"

"Just try not to start a fight in here. I have half the Brawler's Guild meeting here in an hour," the barkeep said.

"You've got it!" Dedmur said, flashing a thumps up. Turning to the dup, he pulled a Runecloth napkin from one of his side satchels and laid it over his lap. "Now where were we… oh yes, we wanted to discuss the upcoming Officer's meeting, didn't we?"

Melfice stared at him for a moment, picking up his Lambic. "Yes… have you been given any tasks by Orex that have been particularly taxing as of late?"

"Now that you mentioned it, he wanted each of the miner's within the guild to donate a stack of True Iron Ore, and two stacks of Blackrock Ore. I had that stored for my own needs, but several other Death Knights had difficulty meeting the requirement."

"You mean he paid you the full thousand gold?" Jotelf growled.

"Thousand? I was paid two-hundred and fifty," Dedmur said, pulling a rib from his meal. "Why, were you offered more for his requests?"

"I don't want to talk about it…" Jotelf grumbled, gulping down her drink. She looked down at her feet at Fizglip, who was clutching the dagger and holding a plate of diced kidney. "Melfice, your second course is ready…"

"Oh excellent! Let me get out some spices for it, I know I have some in here…" Melfice said as he began digging around in his pack, after accepting the platter, which he set on the dead Goblin's brow.

"So what are we worried about exactly?" Dedmur asked, tearing into his rib. "This isn't the first time Orex has demanded a tax from us."

"Yes, but never one quite so large!" Jotelf stressed. "I mean, a few months ago he just wanted a weekly batch of flasks for those raiding the Foundry. And I understood that, Blackhand needed to be stopped."

"Hear, hear!" Melfice said, raising his drink into the air.

The remaining undead in the bar raised their drinks as well, intoning in one unified moan. "For Sylvannas!"

"Old God's that's creepy…" Dedmur muttered.

Melfice shrugged, using his fingers to pluck up the partially cooked kidney slices. "We're a loyal lot."

"Loyal to whom, I ask?" Dedmur mused.

Melfice gave a Cheshire grin. "To whomever promises the greatest rewards, to the Queen, to the Horde… all are the same to us. For now."

"You speak as if you think you'll break away from the Horde or, worse, try and take it over?" Dedmur said casually, with a slight undertone of steel in his voice.

Melfice merely shook his head, popping another piece of kidney into his mouth. He leaned over to look at Fizglib. "Delicious Fiz, my compliments to the cook!"

The small demon glowered at Melfice before fighting down a grin. "Fizglib just liked playing with knife. Cooking not part of his contract!"

"And yet you did it so well!" Melfice praised, pulling a packet from his bag. "Aha! Hot spices for a hot meal."

"You're going to make that mess spicy?" Jotelf asked, scowling at the thought.

" _Extra_ spicy. I got this from Draenor. Powdered Felmouth mixed with mild spices, kicked in with a dash of Fireweed."

"Only the dead could withstand such a disgusting addition to their… _meal_." Dedmur drawled before turning to Jotelf. "I got a letter from Tyku. She said she's coming from the Emerald Dream to our little meeting. Heidegger is coming as well, only because I got the invitation while I was with him."

"Heidegger? He's Orex's second-in-command! He'll rat us out in a minute for convening without Orex!" Jotelf exclaimed, glaring at the pasty Blood Elf. "Dedmur, you're an idiot."

"Couldn't agree more," Melfice said as he rolled a bit of lung around a a heavily peppered piece of kidney.

"Oh come on, he isn't that bad. He complains about Orex all the time!" Dedmur exclaimed.

"Because he wants to lead Boom De Ya Da himself!" Jotelf countered.

"Actually," a rough voice grunted from behind the entryway, a large green-skinned individual clanking up in heavy plate sheathing a glowing blade. "I just want what is best for the guild. I came because I hear the Officers gathering to complain, someone should be here to voice Orex's concerns without the old Orc losing his temper."

"Heidegger…" Jotelf growled, glaring at the Orc. Heidegger was the Warrior officer, as well as a leader for the raids that the guild would launch into Hellfire Citadel to take down Guldan's forces. They'd carved through many demonically enhanced creatures, but Guldan remained elusive.

"Heidegger!" Melfice said, waving him closer. "How is that enchantment working out for you? I made a special point to layer in some old Arcane Dust I had laying around to alter the hue of the glow, so as to mask what it could do until you were already hip-deep in combat."

"It serves me well," Heidegger said, grabbing walking up to stand behind Melfice, clapping him on the shoulder. He eyed the dead Goblin before clearing his throat. "Melfice, are you consuming a fellow member of the Horde?"

"It's his fault," Melfice said around a mouthful of kidney. "He wouldn't give up the table near the fireplace. Fizglib gets cold!"

"Fizglib gets… you killed a Goblin because a demon gets cold?" Heidegger demanded, hand reaching for a dagger at his hilt. "I should gut you here and now, corpse!"

"See, this is why nobody invites you to secret meetings," Melfice said, turning to look at the Orc. "Besides, have you seen where we are? You wouldn't get out of here alive."

Heidegger looked around the room, taking in the numerous guns and knives drawn by the various undead. In the far corner a Forsaken in plate sat with a Ghoul, feasting on a whole pig together. Both had stopped to glare at the loud Orc, meat falling from the ghouls mouth with a sickening plop to the floor.

Heidegger grunted, hand leaving his dagger slowly, palm spread wide as he showed his intent. A Plaguehound sitting at the legs of the next table over growled low in it's throat, a wood roach crawling out of a wound of it's back and into one on it's neck.

"So," he growled, turning to look upon the others. "Who else have you called here? And why are we meeting in such an open area? I count members of Valhalla and Entropius here, two of our rival guilds!"

"We plan on meeting here and flying somewhere safe," Jotelf said around her drink. "Between all of us we can drag down a fully enraged dragon, I doubt anyone will be able to stop us from convening."

"Speaking of convening, I think Tyku just walked in. Looks as sleepy as ever!" Dedmur said, head lolled back to where he was looking at the entrance upside down. "Hey Tyku!"

The blue-skinned troll dressed in leathers, a necklace of human skulls around his neck clattering together as he leaned heavily on a staff topped with writhing tentacles. His tusks were yellowed, and one of his eyes were milky white from his advanced age. Looking over from hearing his name, he blinked and turned, slowly making his way over to the table.

"So, you be pulling me from the Dream for something big, ya?" Tyku asked, his voice deep. He reached out and took a piece of kidney off of Melfice's plate, slipping it over his gums and into his wide mouth. "Mmm… makes me wonder why we stop eatin' people in da first place!"

Heidegger growled low in his chest, his stiff beard bristling as he glared at the aged Druid. Dedmur waved to the barkeep, requesting a bottle of Honey Brew for the table. The barkeep shrugged and, after serving up two steaming piles of mush to an undead hunter and his friend, brought over the chilled bottle with three extra mugs.

"Two more Lambic for you?" The barkeep hissed, pointing at Jotelf and Melfice.

"Yes please," Jotelf muttered around her drink, eyes looking into the fire, where Fizglib had crawled, curling up to a crackling log. "And something boiling for my imp, cheapest ale will do."

"Boiling ale and two Lambics', give me just a moment," The barkeep said, throwing a dry rag over her slumped shoulders as she walked back through the crowded bar. The other undead had taken their eye's from Heidegger and returned to their own conversations, all of which undoubtedly were of something dark and sinister in nature. Heidegger snorted as Dedmur poured him a glass of the Honey Brew. He took it, sniffing the offered liquid.

"Just like a blood elf… something sweet to rot your teeth!" Heidegger growled, sloshing his drink around. "Why not just offer me some Honeymint tea and homemade gingerbread cookies you errant worm!"

"Now is that any way to talk to a fellow officer?" Dedmur asked, sipping at his mug. "I mean, there are over thirty of Ebon Hold's soldiers in the guild. I could order them to sack a small alliance town and they'd do it. Then I could say that the hothead Hedigger told me to do it, and Orex would have to offer you up like a sacrificial pig to Vol'jin himself just to save his own head."

"Hmmph… like anyone would believe you!" Heidegger grunted, tossing back his drink in one go. The brew was sweet and stung his cracked teeth, but he swallowed the gulp and placed his mug on the table. "Now that we're all gathered, minus a few officers, what are we to discuss?"

"You'd be amazed at what floats around the Undercity when the halls are quiet," Melfice said, thanking the barkeep as she dropped off the drinks. Jotelf took the boiling ale and passed it down to Fizglip, who snagged it with both arms and dunked his head beneath the scalding fluids. Smiling, she rested her chin in her palm as she listened.

"So you've been sniffing around your tomb then?" Dedmur asked, arm thrown over the back of his chair. He was running a finger over the rim of his tankard, staring up at Heidegger, who still looked ready to kill.

"I always keep an ear to the ground," Melfice said with a smile. "It's saved me more often than my Ice Barrier has."

"So what have you learned, O great one?" Tyku mumbled, his eyes drooping slightly. Standing behind Dedmur, the aged Troll was leaning heavily on his staff, one hand resting on the Dedmur's shoulder guards.

"I learned that Sylvannas has commissioned from Gallywix a new skyship, and that her Valkyr have been pulled back to the Undercity. No new Forsaken are being created at the moment."

"What a pity…" Heidegger chuckled, earning a smile from Tyku.

"More food for the rest of us, I suppose… anyway, between these two facts I've also found out that not only is Sylvannas asking for one to be built, but _dozens_! She's creating a fleet of airships."

"Why?" Jotelf asked, bored out of her mind.

"Now that," Melfice said, plucking the remaining eye from the Goblin and tossing it into his mouth, "is what I want to show you all. I assume you all have your mounts with you?"

The gathered horde officers nodded, looking to each other. Melfice smiled at this. "Then let's go for a ride and I can show you why we dear Orex has begun working us like mules."

After tossing the defiled Goblin body out into the trash behind the tavern, the gathered officers of Boom De Ya Da whistled for and summoned their various flying mounts. Tyku transformed into a bat with what appeared to be mange, while Heidegger mounted an armored Proto-Drake, a former Dragonmaw orc that had sided against Hellscream during the conflict. Jotelf used a horn to call down a vicious bat, one large enough for her to crawl up onto it's saddle, while Dedmur threw a bone to the ground which rapidly began to crack and expand into a skeletal griffon.

Once mounted, they took off from the cobblestone streets of Brill into the night air, swooping around each other with savage war cries and laughter. Heidgger started racing Tyku while Melfice led them west, Jotelf merely sipping a flask of Ethermead to pass the time, all while Fizglip screamed due to his fear of heights, clutching at the stubby tail of the bat with all his might.

For nearly an hour they flew, passing over Silverpine Forest and the surrounding mountains and out over the water, until their mounts began to tire. Tyku looked as if he were about to pass out and had taken to clinging to Summerleaf to catch his breath. Melfice shouted high above the hiss of the salty sea air and the wind whipping in the clouds.

"Look! Look and see what we prepare for!" Melfice said, waving a bony hand out across the horizon.

Heidegger spurred his flagging drake to maintain it's altitude with a swift stab of his spurs, pulling a spyglass from his belt to peer off into the distance. Dedmur was squinting, at what he couldn't tell.

In the distance was a column of green light, razor thin, rising from the waves. "What?" Dedmur cried out. "Is this what you dragged us out here for?"

A wave of rain pelted across them, a storm moving in from the torrential oceans headed inland. As Jotelf pulled her reins to guide her bat away, Heidegger held up his black-steel gauntlet.

"Hold!" He bellowed above the storm. He looked over at Melfice, who nodded grimly. Heidegger looked to Jortelf and guided his mount closer to hers, tossing the spyglass to her. She caught it, the rainwater not helping as it slickened the polished brass. She looked at the Orc, his long beard matted from the rainfall.

"Rise above the cloud!" He ordered. "I need you to look and tell me what you see!"

Jotelf raised an eyebrow but did as asked. Flashtooth had survived strikes of lightning from riding through storms before. It always led to care from the flight masters wherever she left him, but if Heidegger was serious about something in such a way… something must be amiss.

As she rose through the clouds, Dedmur called out. "Why are we flying in a hurricane?"

"Stop complainin'!" Tyku called back, having shifted so that he could breathe easier. He hung off the side of Summerleaf with strength that belied his age. "Your steed can't even get tired!"

"Yes, but I can get sick of being wet!" Dedmur cried out. "Plus I'm wearing heavy metal armor! Lightning's best friend in a rain storm?"

"Suck it up," Heidegger called back. "If what Melfice is reporting is true, we need to bring this to the other officers attention, and get Orex to issue an order to aid those in the lower tiers to train up for the trials to come."

"What trials?" Dedmur cried, thoroughly confused. Jotelf flew back down, her mount panting from exertion. She waved her hand for them all to follow her, something they all agreed upon. Flying back to land took a little over ten minutes, the entire time being doggedly chased by the storm. Upon spying an expanse of open field in the forests of Silverpine, they all landed roughly, Dedmur's mount actually breaking apart as he skidded a few feet.

All of them were soaked to the bone, their mounts exhausted and their own stamina flagging from having to control their mounts in the storm. Tyku limped away from Summerleaf, waving his hand to summon his staff from the Emerald Dream as Melfice crawled down fromhis mount. The Cloud serpent rolled onto it's side and snorted, soon joined by an exhausted Bat and Proto Drake. Heidegger patted his mounts muzzle, rubbing the scales soothingly. He looked over at Jotelf, the rain still falling hard enough to force them to shout.

"Well?" He cried, turning slightly to face her. "Is it what Melfice feared, Warlock?"

"It is," Jotelf said, her tones short instead of her usual drawling speech. "That's concentrated Fel erupting into the sky from the ocean."

"What?" Dedmur demanded, walking up from his place in the mud. "Why would Fel be coming out of the ocean?"

"It's not coming _from_ the ocean, I imagine," Melfice said. "The Tomb of Sargeras is out there, amidst the raging storms and choppy waters. All it would take is a few reasonably powerful warlocks to get together to try and open a gateway."

"That's insane!" Dedmur cried before Tyku pulled on his arm.

"So was Deathwing," the Troll said. "An' look wat he did with his efforts. We been busy helping another world reclaim itself for da past two years, and now we have some trouble comin' along in our own? I'm not surprised."

"Who do you think is causing it?" Heidegger growled.

"Who knows? Remnants of the Shadow Council, the Twilight Hammer, the Naga? The Highborne Queen had her court wizards try and open a portal thousands of years ago just to let the Burning Legion in. Who's to say they haven't seized the relics within the Tomb and begun their work once again? Thrall and the Earthen Ring are saying the elements are just now coming back under control, and most of our forces are on Draenor; strike while we're unprepared, pull a huge force through and attack _en masse_ an important target."

"Orgrimmar?" Heidegger declared.

Melfice shook his head. "No, the Horde is still too divided after Garrosh. They'd want to strike at the Alliance if they could."

"So you're thinking…" Dedmur trailed off.

Tyku crouched down, running a finger through the cold mud. "Stormwind."


	4. An Unexpected Visitor

The following few days were a blur for the officers, as they all rushed to complete the orders handed down by Orex. The warriors trained and practiced switching stances to go from offensive to defensive while the priests and shamans worked their healing magics over the warrior's injuries. The rogues were sent to key locations and ordered to "scout", for what they weren't told, while the paladins were told to gather up their supplies and prepare for resettlement in a new battleground. The monks had become the unofficial carriers of news between the members of Boom De Ya Da, and were told to practice their skills in groups of three while delivering messages and goods between the various cities, almost all of the supplies inevitably going to the Undercity where a massive project had called the guild's Goblin engineers away with vows of secrecy.

Jotelf had returned to Silvermoon, savoring the warm rays from the sun shining down on her after her sojourn to the bleak forests of Tirisfal. She'd marched right to her loft on Murder's Row and gathered her Alchemical equipment, filling her bags to the brim with reagents and unguents for her various concoctions. Orex hadn't sent her a letter yet, but she didn't intend to be here when the monks arrived with yet another order.

No, the five officers who'd witnessed the Fel energy that night had sworn an oath beneath the torrential rain: prepare for the Legion as best they could, however they could.

Even if it meant ducking from their combined guild responsibilities for a while.

Surprisingly it'd been Heidegger that'd suggested that, claiming this was far more important than the petty politics within the Horde in general.

"Our guild may be used as a source for frontline fighters," he'd said. "But I intend to dull my blades on demon hide rather than stand back and send lesser soldiers to die in my stead."

"Aye mon," Tyku had agreed, squatting down in the mud with his hands gripping his staff tightly. "I'll be venturin' back to da Emerald Dream, see who I can scrounge up dere. We be needing every ally, now more den eva'."

Dedmur had nodded before opening a portal to the floating citadel of Archerus. "I'll recruit more Death Knights to our cause. Their mastery over the dead will prove advantageous to us. Many of them are mercenaries for hire as well, so swelling our ranks will be easy."

"My private cabal will vacate Silvermoon and move to the Foothills, where we can operate in relative secrecy. We'll summon you in three days, along with anyone you wish to bring with you. Together, we can create an army ready to face the Legion head on."

"No army can face the Legion head on," Melfice had added. "I'll look into the Kirin Tor's divinations discreetly, see if I can locate the gate. We'll launch an attack on it directly. I'll even fly there and set up a portal to a discreet landing spot so we can move quickly."

The officers had agreed and each taken to their mounts, spurring them on in differing directions. Each had much to think about as they headed towards their respective homes.

Jotelf had decided that the Death Knight mercenaries, armed with Alchemical and Druidic support, would prove enough to battle the demons. After all, they too were children of the legion, born from a Dreadlord's machinations. Who best to know how to handle the Fel creatures?

While Jotelf's cabal was small, it held the most potent warlocks in the guild, numbering at six who had personally seen to Teron'Gor falling within the Hellfire Citadel. They'd prove useful in summoning creatures from the Void to help fight the Legion.

Glancing over her loft once more, she turned to leave, only to find a monstrous frame standing in the doorway.

"Going somewhere?" Orex asked, his gravelly voice and yellowed tusks showing his advanced age. His dusky brown skin and thick, corded muscles marked him as one of the Mag'har, orcs who'd refused Guldan's gifts. They were thought to be extinct until discovered in Outland, where some had chosen to join the Horde.

Orex wore his beard in a single braid down his bare chest, his free-flowing vestments allowing him the mobility necessary for the aged Orc to move when needed. Jotelf's eyes darted down to his hands, widening by a fraction of an inch.

Each fist was bore his Gladiator's Talons, the fist weapons he'd slain over a thousand members of the Alliance with. Tightening her muscles, Jotelf smiled wanly at Orex.

"Master Orex… what a pleasant surprise!" Jotelf exclaimed, turning she motioned for him to come inside. "Please, come in and have a seat. I have some Four Wind Soju if you'd like, or perhaps some Plum Wine?"

Orex stared at her for a moment, sniffing once before taking a step into the room, eyes darting to the various corners. "I can stay for a drink," he said. "I mainly came to speak of your _warlocks_ and what use they can provide in my plans."

The way he said warlocks showed his disdain for Jotelf's profession. Walking briskly into her kitchen, she retrieved from her Portable Refrigerator a bottle of Plum wine and two glasses, pouring out a healthy amount of the heady tonic in each. Walking over to Orex, she held out a glass to him, which he snatched with disdain. Sniffing the liquor, he shrugged before chugging down the entire glass.

"An interesting place you've chosen to hole yourself up in," Orex said, setting the empty glass on an intricately carved side table, walking over to the wide windows overlooking the Row. "Not the best part of the city, I assume?"

"It has its fair share of crime, but it's really no different than the Cleft of Shadow, minus the bar at the end of the lane," Jotelf said, sipping her sweet wine. Her mind was racing with ideas. Orex had never shown his face in Silvermoon; his distrust for Blood Elves was a well-known fact. Their service to Illidan had made them his enemy for many years.

And if there was something to be said of Orex, it was that he didn't forget feuds easily.

"From the recent shipment of herbs and potions you sent to me – incomplete I might add – I know you to be a skilled Alchemist," Orex said, turning to regard her for a moment. "Yet I see no equipment on your worktables, no herbs on your shelves. Did I truly tax you so that you were left with nothing?"

"You said it yourself," Jotelf nodded slowly. "I came up short on my order. As for my equipment, I keep most of it on me to make what I need on the go. I have enough bag space to carry what I need for weeks at a time, if the need were to arise."

"Hmm… if the need to arise," Orex repeated. Clearing his throat, he walked over to the counter where the Plum Wine sat and grabbed the bottle. He held it up, eyes judging her. "You prefer Pandaren drink over Elven?"

"It has it's finer qualities," Jotelf said, unsure of what he meant.

"Yes… the Brewmasters have told me of how well it all travels. The bottles, made from thick glass, are difficult to break and the wine is sweetened by the darkness within the colored glass. One would think someone who stocks Plum Wine is one who goes on the move a lot."

"Oh no, I just prefer the taste," Jotelf said, waving the air as if a foul smell was present.

Faster than she could register, Orex was in front of her, bottle gripped in one fist and chest pushing her back into the end table. He was staring down at her, a grin tugging at his lips. Jotelf did her best not to flinch or act frightened, instead looking at Orex with a raised eyebrow. He winked at her and slowly reached past her, pulling to him his glass.

"Hope you don't mind if I have a second drink," he said softly, eyes never leaving hers. She shook her head slightly, wincing as the liquid hit the bottom of the glass, the sound deafening in the silence of her loft.

He took a small sip before humming. "I need you," he said, pointing with two fingers into her chest, "to round up all of our warlocks. I'll have need of your talents soon and I want you all on board."

"What-What do you need us for?" Jotelf said, keeping her voice calm. She slid out from between the sofa and Orex, walking over to a plush Frostweave chair. Sitting down, she slid her hand into the side, grabbing a hidden knife she kept there for emergencies. I was already poisoned with venom from Klaxxi Amberguards; it could render a Kodo unconscious in seconds.

Orex looked down into his glass, setting down the bottle on the side table. "Don't worry about that. We'll need them ready for a mass summoning, opening a portal from Orgrimmar to a preset destination."

"Where?" Jotelf asked, pressing the issue.

Orex flung the glass at her, snarling. "You don't ask me questions! You do as you're told and damned be the one who defies me!"

Jotelf shielded herself from the glass as it shattered against the wall close to her head, wine flying everywhere. Jotelf looked up and Orex had moved from his place near the sofa to right in front of her.

"For too long have I been hearing murmurings within my guild questioning my decisions," Orex growled low, reaching out and slowly grabbing Jotelf by the throat. Lifting her with one arm, she smacked at his meaty forearm as she was pulled from her chair and up towards the ceiling.

"I've survived on a world of ash and dust, plagued with demons and other dark creatures. I've joined the Horde and risen through the ranks until I served Thrall himself. Then I served Hellscream, advising him to lead with a gentle hand. When he lost his mind my claws were on the front lines tearing out Korkron hearts while you and your kind fought from afar. So don't you dare question me when I say I have need of your warlocks' cooperation!"

Struggling for air, Jotelf started to allow the Fel to flow through her, lighting her eyes with green energy. Grabbing onto Orex's head, she channeled Fel fire through her fingertips and into his face, a sick sizzling noise accompanying his screams as he dropped her to the floor gasping.

Holding his face, his screams turned to heavy breathing as he healed the wound, his yellow eyes glaring at her from between his fingers where rivulets of water soothed his burns. "Wench!"

"Orex, you need to leave!" Jotelf declared, snapping her fingers with a burst of Fel energy, Thomkar dribbling into existence between her and the mighty Orc shaman. The Void Lord was even in size to the tower of muscle, and _should_ be able to hold Orex off while Jotelf worked her magics to deal with Orex… but she knew the Mag'har too well. He'd allow Thomkar to slash at him and just charge around him, claws ready to tear into Jotelf as she recited the incantations for her fiery defenses.

Orex slowly rose to his feet, hands wiping excess water from his aged features. Snorting, he grabbed the bottle of wine and took a long pull from it. Breaking for air, he sneered at Jotelf. "You have one week to assemble the warlocks together for me in the Cleft of Shadow. One week, or I break you in two."

"I'd like to see you try… half the guild would leave if they saw how you're acting right now!" Jotelf shouted, palming an Incinerate spell in her hands, the crackling fire heating the loft quickly. "Now go, before you and I duel."

Orex tipped the bottle at her before turning and walking out of the loft, tiulting the bottle back for another swig. Jotelf allowed her spell to fade and ordered Thomkar to close and lock the door. Looking out her window, she could see the regular hoodlums of Murder Row chatting at the base of the building, all going silent as the veritable giant that was Orex walked out of the building.

"He's losing it…" Jotelf muttered to herself. "He's going absolutely mad!"

Turning, she sent a shiver of energy into her enchanted broom, ordering it to clean up the glass shards. Rubbing at her neck, she wondered what would have happened if she hadn't burned his face? Would he have killed her and replaced her with one of the many Orc warlocks that filled the guilds ranks? None of them were as skilled as the Sin'dorei and Forsaken that she had in her own following, but they could perform a crude mass summoning if the need arose.

Writing a quick letter, she rolled up the vellum and sealed it with her signet ring. Conjuring a bat made of twisted energies and broken glass, she mentally commanded it to take the letter to the Undercity.

She needed to ask Melfice if he knew of any apartment in the City of the Dead.

Heidegger waited at the entrance to Silvermoon for Orex to emerge, his Garn mount still chomping at the bit, the wild monster not all the way domesticated yet. The seven-and-a-half-foot tall wolf was as dark as the shades coming off the statues to the Sin'dorei prince overlooking him, and seemed to make the guards more alert. Orex's boar stood patiently, the beast trained well by his master.

Heidegger had masked his concern when Orex said he needed to speak with the Master Warlock regarding a military matter. The guild leader was sharing a little of what he knew with Heidegger, but not enough for the orc to piece it all together. He'd seen the light of the Fel that night through his spyglass just as he'd seen it over thirty years ago when he was young. One of the many Orc children aged by the warlocks, he'd suffered with an insatiable bloodlust that finally died when Grom Hellscream did. For his defeat of the Pit Lord, he would forever be honored by Orcs.

But the reports he was getting from Orex were confusing.

"Ask the Goblins of Kezan, find out where it was."

"Map out Alliance shipping lanes, ask our spies to send in reports on them."

"Inquire with the Bronze Dragons whether or not an anomaly was occurring."

The last one bothered him the most as when he'd personally seen to that, he'd been told that they indeed did sense a time paradox. Something that shouldn't be here was, and the only figure that could represent was someone from Draenor. When he told Orex this the older Orc had split a table down the middle with his knuckle-blades, cursing that he _knew_ this problem would last longer than that "idiot" let on.

Pausing his thoughts as he caught sight of Orex rounding the corner, he smiled at his old friend.

Orex didn't smile back.

 _This bodes well…_ Heidegger thought with a defeated sigh.

"How did it go?" Heidegger asked in Orcish as Orex was climbing atop his boar.

"As well as could be expected from one of the pitiful elves," Orex grunted, one hand reaching up to wipe at his face. "Had to remind her who was in charge of whom in there."

"Is… is she okay?" Heidegger asked.

Orex chuckled. "A little shaken but that's all I need. She'll do as I ask oir I'll demote her and replace her with someone more compliant."

"The warlocks look up to her Orex, you know that wouldn't work well," Heidegger said, bowing his head as he received a foul look from the other Orc.

"Yes," Orex said slowly, grabbing the reins to his mount and snapping them once, the two of them riding off into the Eversong Woods together. "I imagine that we can get someone just as popular if the need should arise."

They rode in silence into the Ghostlands, past the entrance to the Troll city of Zul'Aman and down into the Plaguelands.

"Where are we headed?" Heidegger asked.

"The Undercity," Orex chimed. "I want a zeppelin as fast as could be back to Durotar. The humidity here doesn't agree with my knee."

Heidegger chuckled. Orex had taken an axe blow to the back of his leg a few years ago, severing several tendons as they all fought against the Qiraji warriors. This was before the officers had joined, back when they were in a different guild. Times seemed simpler then…


	5. An Invited Guest

Days passed without incident, Melfice researching a new enchantment to be placed on his Guild Leader's Gladiator Talons. The only news he'd received was a note from Jotelf from a seeking refuge in the Undercity, something he'd happily offered in a small apartment purchased in the upper reaches of the Magic Quarter, four stories above the glowing ooze that circled the central pillar holding the Undercity together. He'd sent her a key through a carrier bat, a note detailing where the home was with orders not to leave barring emergency.

Smiling, he had to wonder how the prissy elf was handling the barrel of mixed Mageroyal and Absinthe, the bittersweet cocktail coming across as a flavored tea. He of course hadn't mentioned that the potent liquor was there, knowing that after a flight to the Undercity she'd need a stiff drink.

The sleep that the concoction was that of a comatose Troll after an eating binge; the sleep for those who truly needed it. And if she'd faced off with Orex like she claimed in the letter, he knew she could use the rest.

While sitting on his balcony sipping some Binary Brew, legs kicked up onto the stone bannister, Melfice looked over the dozen or so scrolls he'd received since she'd arrived two days ago. Tyku had rallied some Druids through the Emerald Dream, relaying instructions to meet for a trip to the source of the Fel energies erupting from the sea. He dreaded where it could be coming from, but from his old maps and charts he could only assume his original hunch was true.

The Tomb of Sargeras.

The forbidden land where time had frozen in place some millennia ago, Melfice could find little on the remote location, just vague scribbles in the margins of old tomes of the giants that were spawned from the land, of the mighty warriors that lived for battle. They reminded Melfice of a certain race of larger-then-life group of giants that dwelled in Northrend. He wondered, chewing on a disc of pressed Peacebloom, the numbing herb fighting off the aches that Melfice felt every day from his state of decay.

Snatching a scroll from Orex, he read over the letter once more, listening to the screech of carrier bats flying through the vaulted passages.

"To my Officers,

I am in need of a new commander of the Warlocks. I was visiting Jotelf in her home in Silvermoon, only to find her apartment torn asunder. Signs of a struggle were easy to see, and stains of blood on the floor left little doubt that one of our enemies has taken her away from us. I am offering a one-thousand gold reward if any member of Boom De Ya Da can deliver news of her location. An organized raid could very well deliver her from a grisly death at the hands of jealous rivals or Alliance scum.

However, until we can locate her, we will need a replacement Officer to oversee the many Warlocks in our ranks. I've selected three candidates, who I shall present at our upcoming meeting. We will vote on which Warlock we want representing our cause. The meeting has been postponed for next week, but I will be meeting with each of you to discuss strategies for a new enemy.

Until then be vigilant, as we may have a traitor in our ranks. Her home wasn't well known to many within our ranks, a secret that was passed among her close friends alone. I'll be personally overseeing an investigation into locating her while we work towards our goals.

Loktar Ogar!"

No signature was left with the carefully written letter, just the seal of the Guild pressed into the dry parchment. Melfice had been surprised when the small proto-drake had arrived, the twenty-pound hatchling bearing a bag of several scrolls, one meant for him.

 _Only Orex would tame dragons and use them as mail carriers_ , Melfice chuckled. Picking up his goblet of wine, he slid the parchment onto the small table, taking a moment to breathe in the invigorating scents of the Undercity. Looking down over the Apothecarium, he ran a finger underneath Ne'hala's beak, allowing the bird to preen a little, her hatred for him satiated by feasting on some of the maggots that grew within him.

"What do you think Ne'hala? Should I meet with Orex before he seeks to know of my hideaway?" Melfice asked, lowering his feet to the stone floor of the balcony. His furs did wondrous things in regards to the cold air of the Undercity, keeping the nip in the air at bay.

"I think you should let him find you," Ne'hala squawked, raising her chest to be scratched. "You should able to control the situation in this apartment should he get unruly. You have the place covered in runic arrays and wards; nobody could do anything in here without you raising a little Fel."

"I'm not worried about him attacking me," Melfice muttered, stroking the bird's breast. "I mean I should be worried. Shaman's are never to be dismissed, especially ones with as much power as Orex wields. From the way he fights, the elements practically sing his name as he tears into opponents. I would be hard pressed to handle him."

Ne'hala just remained quiet, enjoying Melfice's ministrations. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Melfice pondered over what he could do to satisfy his leader while still launching the attack against… whatever it was that was summoning the Fel energy.

Standing up, he strolled into his apartment and opened his desk drawer, pulling out his radio. Turning it to Orex's channel, he pressed down the button to speak and waited to hear the crackle come from his end.

He didn't have to wait long.

"What is it? Who is this?" Orex demanded over the line angrily, the sound of a woman in the background being shushed.

"It's Melfice sir," Melfice replied. "I would like to speak with you whenever you are ready. I can teleport to you, so just let me know when and where you'd like to meet."

"Dammit Melfice, you need to learn when to call someone! It's the middle of the night!" Orex growled before heaving a sigh. "Alright. Tomorrow at noon, I'll come to you."

"I'll be there with bells on," Melfice said. "Enjoy your latest conquest soldier."

"Melfice I will tear your jaw free from yo-" Orex growled before the undead lifted his hand from the call button, effectively silencing the Shaman. Melfice chuckled, sliding into his seat in front of his desk, the vellum carrying a pair of Warsong weapon enchantments. He'd written the cost he'd undergone gathering the requisite materials and would be demanding money in return for the scroll, something he knew would start the meeting off on a bad foot.

"Perfect," Melfice chuckled, spitting his thoroughly chewed chaw of Peacebloom into a trashcan beside his desk.

Placing the device back into his desk, he leaned back in his stuffed chair. "So Stormwind, eh Tyku?"

Tyku's second letter had been simple, stating that he'd passed along the news of the Fel energy to the Druids of the Alliance. Melfice hadn't heard of any troop movement, but he knew that their leader wasn't a fool. He'd mobilize a force quickly, and most likely, silently.

"Just the way it should be," Melfice muttered to his empty apartment.

Orex hated the Undercity like one would loathe a maggot eating at an open wound. It was a festering, nasty thing that ought to be removed from the face of Azeroth, just to make certain it couldn't multiply. Under Hellscresm's reign the Dark Lady revealed she had a way of creating _new_ Forsaken. The undead could now multiply and, while they maintained their free will, they all seemed to revere Sylvannas in a way that did not bode well for the Horde. Soon enough there would be enough corpses that Sylvannas could become the Lich Queen and start her own agenda of conquering Azeroth.

But as Orex stood in the elevator, rubbing a pale cream of mashed Tiger Lily and Goldclover beneath his nose to fight the overall stench of decay the city choked you with, he thought about what he'd come to terms with.

Melfice was one of the oldest in the Guild, his seniority even outranking Orex himself. He'd stood on the sidelines as Orex and four others fought in a free-for-all in the Gurubashi Arena to see who would lead the Guild so many years ago. The feeling he got from the skeletal mage was cold indifference, which didn't please the Guild master to say the least.

The elevator shifted, indicating that it was finally lowering, leaving him with four Forsaken passengers all speaking their lowball Gutterspeak to each other, laughing at whatever sick jokes the little monsters could come up with. Eyeing the assorted weapons, Orex stood to the back of the elevator and took in the sloppy initiates of the Hive, a competing Guild. They were all dirty from adventures in the wilds and were returning to the Undercity to, most likely, spend their gold on drink and "food". Orex shuddered at the thought of a Forsaken restaurant.

The doors opened and the gaggle of cadavers walked out, allowing a pair of Blood Elves to stride past Orex into the elevator. The sight of a Silvermoon Lily tucked behind the ear of the elven maiden brought a brief thought of Jotelf to his mind.

"Bah," He grunted, turning the corner to walk into the central hub of the Undercity. "She's probably in hiding somewhere, shivering like a youngling."

Walking down the ramp leading to the bank, Orex frowned when he saw Melfice standing in his eye catching fur-lined robe, Saberon head acting as a hood.

He sighed, running a hand down his face. "I thought I asked you not to wear that in public?"

Melfice pushed away from the space of wall he'd been leaning on and hopped forward once, the robes opening to reveal a short blade strapped to his hip. "You have. As it's not in our Guild charter to have a dress code I feel free to wear it when I please."

Orex growled, grinding his teeth together. "Whatever. Have you done as I've asked Mage? Do you have my enchantments?"

"Oh? Oh yes, I have them in my scroll pocket of my robe, but I just wanted to see if I could ask you a few questions first." Melfice said, walking up to Orex to guide him with a bony hand towards the lower levels. "Let's head to the War Quarter, you can test out the axes while we talk."

Orex smiled. At least Melfice knew how to have fun…

It took them ten minutes but they'd finally found the axe vendor near the blacksmith and, having gathered several weapons, were standing in front of some practice dummies, Orex whirling and slicing to his heart's content as Melfice prattled on about his work.

Orex, breathing heavily, looked over to the undead. "So what does this all mean to me?"

Melfice paused mid-sentence, before looking at Orex with his dead eyes. "It means I'll be requesting a leave of absence for myself and six other mages within the Guild. We have work with the Kirin Tor that must be dealt with that cannot wait any longer."

"What?" Orex growled, slamming an axe into the gut of a dummy. "No! You can't leave yet!"

"Well why not? I've been telling you of this foray into the magical energies Malygos left behind for years and you've never taken it seriously. Now they're taking along an elite cadre of Mages and I want to be a part of it."

"I said no," Orex grunted, reaching for a new axe. Melfice didn't move as the meaty arm crossed over his legs, pulling a heavily weighted blade into his grasp.

"This is a mere formality that I'm alerting you of this, as my attendance for all Guild activities has been spotless. I'm allowed time to myself should I desire it," Melfice said, pulling a pipe from his robes. "I've caught up on all of the enchanting you've requested and have already delegated my duties to In-Windfur until I return in two weeks."

Orex frowned at that. In-Windfur was a Pandaren female who was well versed in the aspects of Frost magic, imbuing it with her own personal essence to allow for greater defensive measures to be available when the need arose. She didn't like Orcs after what Garrosh did and had often been belligerent to Orex simply to do so. The petulant panda was barely out of her teens… to make her leader of his order of mages was unthinkable.

"In is a little… soft-spoken for my tastes. Have you considered Bol of the Laughing Skull?" Orex asked, knowing that Bol was a stalwart choice in aligning the power structure within the Guild. The fact that the former Draenor resident was completely mad wasn't important to Orex; the lunatic knew how to plan!

"Bol and I had a disagreement some months back and haven't been on speaking terms. You know I'm allowed to pick who holds up my role while I am away so long as they are a Master of their respective Order's. In is a Master Mage, she'll be fine. Besides, what could happen in two weeks' time that would require me?"

Orex fought back the snarl ready to be unleashed. Looking at Melfice as he packed his pipe, he furrowed his brows. _Does he know something?_ Orex thought slowly. _How could he, the Warchief has only told the Guild Leaders…_

"Melfice… what do you know of the Fel?" Orex asked, standing tall while examining a small Dwarven throwing axe, the elaborate design marking the item as more ornamental then practical.

Melfice quirked an eyebrow, pausing in his pipe-packing. "I know what most Mages know of it, with a little more to be certain… why do you ask?"

"I've… _sensed_ through the elements that something is corrupting nature once more, a corruption that can only be felt in areas swathed in Fel magic," Orex continued before winding up and hurling the axe at a dummy some twenty yards away. The blade sank deep into the head of the dummy, bisecting the straw practice figure's face. "I think we may… that we may have need of your talents soon. I can't approve of you going on a sabbatical, nor taking any of my Mages with you."

Melfice finished packing his pipe as the two of them watched a fresh Forsaken run up and pull the axe from the dummy, jogging back to return it. Orex thanked the undead with a word and a slight nod, wincing as he gazed at the dangling tongue hanging free from it's neck.

Melfice broke the silence as Orex hefted up a great double handed axe, the blade easily as wide as most Tauren's chests. No ornamentation, reinforced with iron struts… this was a weapon fit for battle.

"Nice selection," Melfice commented, puffing on his pipe as he lit it.

"I know… truly fit for war." Orex said, marveling at it.

"Is that why you need us here Orex?" Melfice said, his voice low enough that the other warriors practicing nearby didn't hear him. "Are you preparing for war?"

Orex turned to look at Melfice, a scowl on his face. "We're always at war, corpse… have you not paid attention the past few years?"

"Yes, war with each other, war with the Iron Tide, even war with the elements…" Melfice said, sucking in a lungful of Peacebloom. "Have you ever thought it might be time to hang up your Talons and let someone else lead the charge for a while? Even the finest sword needs to be brought in to be cleaned and sharpened, right?"

"So you're saying you think I should step down, is that it?" Orex growled, whirling on Melfice, breathing heavily.

Melfice shook his head. "No, I'm saying that an old warrior such as yourself should seek a place to better place his talents. Our former Warchief Go'el found his roots within the Earthen Ring after years of battle. Both of you are Shamans. Perhaps it's time to put your powers to the betterment of all the Horde and seek your place as something less… demanding."

Melfice blew out a cloud of smoke before continuing on, his speech slow and steady.

"Your insistence that I can't go now is pointless; you and I both know I can teleport away and there isn't a thing you could do about it. My fellow Mages have agreed to meet me in Dalaran soon enough, so you'll be down seven of us. Barking like a chained hound won't solve your problems. Maybe, just maybe, you should try a different tactic than ordering your Guild members around like servants. Not all of us like it…"

Orex was having trouble breathing now… _What could this rotting fool mean? Telling me to step down like he knows what it takes to lead a Guild our size… we're one of Vol'jin's many spears that he must use for the upcoming battle._

Leaning on the greataxe with white-knuckled hands, Orex drew in ragged breaths while glaring at Melfice. The undead sat perched atop a crate, calmly polluting the air with his sweet scented smoke. Orex waved a hand to try and get the pungent smell from his nose before dropping the large axe onto the table.

"Do what you must, I'll work with In as I must. Inform her I'll want reports on what the _remaining_ Master Mages are doing within my Guild every day," Orex said as he stomped through the vapors and away from the training dummies. "I have something to plan, and since you'll be indisposed, I'll just have to make do."

Melfice hummed, not bothering to get up as his Guild Leader walked away. He took another long pull on his pipe and blew the smoke out through his nostrils. "Should even out the playing field I think. Jotelf and the others will thank me for this. They'll have to…"


End file.
